The fog that enveloped Storm Dragonheart’s awareness began to dissipate as she became more attuned to her surroundings. As she slowly opened her eyes, she realized that she was on board a rickety wagon and that her hands were bound tightly together. There were a few others with her on the same wagon, less than half a dozen of them, and all were also bound.

“Ah, you have awakened,” she heard a man say, and her blurry vision focused on a stranger’s rugged face, his hair golden like the sunshine and his eyes blue as a clear summer sky. “It seems that we all share the same fate,” the man continued.

Storm winced as the glaring sun reflected some of the snow encrusted on the nearby mountains, sending piercing blades of sunbeams straight to her blurry eyes. The female bounty hunter turned to look at the light-haired man in front of her and asked, “Where are we?”

The landscape was wintry; soft, powdery snow flurry about, carried by the slight breeze that blew down from the north. Yes, they must be heading north. The northern borough of Kirkstead is known to lie just northwest of the summer capital, Semera, the High King’s seat of power. Kirkstead is where the magistrate trials generally take place, and the hold of the High King’s Head Magistrate, Commander Gavros Vinius.

“Lymnos,” the light-haired man replied, and Storm straightened in her seat to take a better look at her surroundings. The mountains that ringed the frosty valley does look like Kirkstead, but then, she noticed that the flora were different. The growing shrubberies were made up of frostberries and blizzardblooms, shrubs that thrive farther north than the perennial mountain flowers and lavenders of Kirkstead.

Storm blinked as the truth struck. “They’re taking us straight to the execution garrison? Without going through a trial?”

The light-haired man nodded. However, before he can say more, the dozen or so wagons carrying the prisoners drew to a halt in front of a looming edifice hardened by ice and snow. Blizzardfort Tower, home of the High King’s executioner, Sir Magnus, the patriarch of House Blizzardfort.

Storm shivered involuntarily as she and the other prisoners were herded down from the carts and lined up along the front of the fortress. The blizzard had grown stronger and Storm can feel her feet growing numb from the cold. Instead of her usual fur-lined boots and bear-pelt cloak, she was clad in a thin rough-spun tunic and pants issued to prisoners of the kingdom. On her feet were cloth foot wraps that do nothing to protect one’s feet. Storm’s breathing began to constrict due to the cold air and the realization that her last mission was a failure. If it had been successful, she would not be here. What had happened?

Sooner than she hoped for, her name was called out. She was second in line to the headman’s block. The prisoner before her was brave enough to face his end, calling on to the Old Gods for a place in the Afterlife. The man must be of noble spirit, if not of noble birth. He died bravely and proudly.

When her name was called, Storm tentatively took a few steps to the block, swallowing the lump in her throat. She knew that the life of a bounty hunter does not end well. She knew that sooner than later, her line of work would catch up with her – she just did not expect it sooner.

Storm was roughly shoved down, making her fall on both knees sharply, the frigid stones and frozen earth biting into her skin, all the way to her bones. She had grown so numb that when she got down on her knees, she closed her eyes in resignation, accepting her fate. It had been a full, rich life. She has no regrets.

The bounty hunter, through the slits of her closed eyes, discerned the movements of the headsman and she can hear orders being issued to begin with her execution. But then, these were cut off by screams of fear from the crowd that came to witness the execution of their loved ones.

Storm quickly opened her eyes to look around and see what was happening. Everyone was in panic. Civilians run wild, trying to find a place to hide while soldiers scurry about, shooting at the sky with a volley of arrows. Some had rolled out several spear-throwing ballistae.

Storm turned her head sideways to look at the direction where the headsman had stood before, ready to bring down his axe and her eyes grew huge, her mouth gaped open. Can it be? Can it really be – a dragon?

Comments

I
have
been
told
that
the
first
paragraph
determines
the
flow
and
binds
the
reader
and
the
story.
The
opening
is
so
INTENSE!
Also,
I
got
a
clear
picture
of
the
scenario,
age,
genre
and
gender
of
the
lead!
Please
write
more
_/\_

First,
I
want
you
to
understand,
that
honest
feedback
means
not
to
sugar
coat
things.
If
I
were
to
tell
you
your
work
was
perfect,
it
would
give
you
an
ego
boost,
but
would
be
a
great
disservice
to
you,
as
it
would
not
help
make
you
aware
of
your
opportunities
for
improvement.
But
understand,
this
review
is
only
one
person
(me)
giving
an
opinion.
ThatThat
being
said,
There
were
a
few
verb
tense
inconsistencies,
which
is
an
easy
proof
read
fix.
The
flow
was
just
the
tiniest
bit
bumpy
in
a
line
or
two.
Very
minor.
Now,
as
for
the
main
purpose
of
this
forum,
your
idea,
is
great.
I
really
like
it,
and
would
definitely
read
more.
Finally,
this
leaves
us
with
what
I
think
off
your
writing
style.
Absolutely
magnificent.
You
have
a
true
talent,
which
is
something
that
can
(and
should)be
developed
through
practice,
but
yours
goes
deeper.
It's
something
are
either
born
with,
or
you're
not,
and
you
most
certainly
were!
Please,
do
not
waste
this,
it's
a
gift,
and
you
should
embrace
that
fact.
Your
choice
of
words,
and
style
of
storytelling
painted
a
clear
picture
in
my
mind,
and
this
is
just
a
synopsis.
The
reason
for
eight
stars,
and
not
ten,
is
that
ten
is
nearly
impossible
to
achieve,
as
it
implies
perfection.
Had
you
written
more,
a
little
longer,
Is
have
rated
9.
I
love
it,
will
follow
you,
and
how
to
see
you
pay
in
the
future.